Leslie's Early Years: The Birthday Gift
by FantasyIslander65
Summary: Roarke and Tattoo help Leslie celebrate her fifteenth birthday in a memorable way, with a special gift. Fourth in the 'Early Years' series.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** _This story, in my printed version, was preceded by two short tales called "The Invisible Man" and "Driving Miss Leslie", both of which have been heavily excerpted in posted stories. Due to that, I decided to skip them and go to this one, which has occasionally been referred to in recent new stories but never been excerpted. I hope you'll enjoy it!_

* * *

§ § § -- May 3, 1980

It was the first weekend in May and a little quieter than usual, as the fantasies were fairly routine: a young woman wanted to meet her great-grandmother who had owned a house that was a stop on the Underground Railroad of the nineteenth century; and three adopted siblings were searching for their respective birth parents. It was mid-afternoon on Saturday, and things were quiet and running very smoothly; so Roarke took the opportunity to get caught up on the endless paperwork. Tattoo came in after a while, lugging a large wrapped rectangular package. Close behind him was Kali, a pretty native islander who delivered the mail for the eastern end of the island. She carried a package and two thick stacks of envelopes secured by rubber bands.

"Well," said Roarke, pausing in his work to see who the newcomers were. "Are you sure you've got that, Tattoo…whatever it is?"

Tattoo, huffing a little, nodded. "No problem, boss. It's just a present for Leslie. I need to wrap it in something more attractive."

"May I see it?" Roarke inquired, rising from his desk while Kali paused in the middle of the room to watch with interest.

"Oh, sure, boss," Tattoo agreed and propped the object against the newel post of the banister. He ripped away the plain brown paper, revealing a beautiful painting of the Champs-Elysées in springtime. It was exploding with color, between the blue of the sky and the green of the new leaves, the riotous reds, pinks, purples and yellows of the flowers, and the few human figures Tattoo had added to give it extra life. One of the people in the painting was walking a dog.

"That's beautiful, Mr. Tattoo!" Kali exclaimed, awstruck.

"Yes," Roarke agreed wholeheartedly, "Leslie will be thrilled to receive this! I think we can find the perfect paper in which to wrap it. We'll store it in my room if you prefer."

"That'd be perfect, boss," Tattoo said and glanced between them. "Thank you for your compliments. She still doesn't have very much, and I wanted to her to have something really nice. So I painted this from a memory I have from my childhood."

"Oh, it's lovely," Kali said. "Mr. Tattoo, I'm saving money so I can buy one of your paintings. Do you think you could do one like that for me?"

Tattoo grinned sheepishly and shifted his weight. "I don't see why not. But you won't have to pay a fortune for it, Kali, so don't act as if you have to clean out your savings account. Will fifty dollars be all right?"

"It's a bargain," Kali replied enthusiastically. "Thank you so much." She turned to Roarke and handed him the mail she held. "I think this is the package you were expecting, Mr. Roarke."

Roarke accepted the items, putting the envelopes on the desk and examining the package. "Yes, thank you, Kali—it's the one I have been waiting for since early last month. I was beginning to wonder whether it would arrive in time."

"I'm glad it did, then," said Kali, "whatever it is. Well, I'd better get back to work. Thank you again, Mr. Tattoo, and I'll see you both later." Roarke and Tattoo said goodbye, and she departed the house.

"What's so important about that package?" Tattoo asked curiously.

"Oh, it's something very special, my friend," Roarke said. "I'd better put it away for safekeeping. Perhaps if we go into the extra room upstairs, we'll find some festive wrapping paper for your painting. You should have a camera handy to capture the expression on Leslie's face when she opens it—I have no doubt she'll love it."

Roarke carried the painting and the package, the latter of which he put away in his room before going down the hall with Tattoo and looking in the over-packed storage closet for wrapping paper. _"Sacre bleu,"_ said Tattoo at sight of the contents. "If someone tries to put one more thing in there, the whole mess will fall right out. It'll be an avalanche."

"Mariki refuses to touch it," Roarke said, shaking his head. "I've meant to have Leslie help me reorganize it, but there simply hasn't been time. Perhaps I'll give her the task once she is on summer vacation from school. Ah, here we are." With a little finesse, he worked a tall thin box out from behind a tangle of other items, managing somehow not to dislodge anything more than some dust bunnies, and looked through its contents. There were about half a dozen rolls of wrapping paper there, five of which were clearly Christmas-themed.

"Is there any more?" Tattoo wondered, lifting the sixth roll out of the box. He pulled a bit of its length away from the cardboard tube and surprised both himself and Roarke when only a foot-long section came off, leaving the tube bare.

"That certainly won't be enough," Roarke said, "at least for your painting. But there should be enough for the package. I don't know if we have any more." He pushed the folding pocket door completely aside and surveyed the crowded interior of the closet. "Frankly, I'm not convinced it's a wise idea to search."

Tattoo laughed. "That's okay, boss. I might be able to find something in the stores, if I can have part of Monday to look."

Roarke smiled. "Go on Tuesday. Leslie will have to be in school for the better part of her birthday, and that will give us time to wrap gifts and make other arrangements for her birthday celebration. I have already set aside an arena for the party, so we need only see to it that it's decorated. There is a cake on order, and I've set up an afternoon appointment for Leslie as well, so the plans are already under way."

"Why make such a big deal out of it?" Tattoo asked curiously. "I always thought that when you turned 21, that was the big celebration."

Roarke considered it, then chuckled at himself. "Perhaps it was something subconscious," he observed thoughtfully. "There is a custom in many Spanish-speaking countries to mark the occasion when a girl reaches her fifteenth birthday—it's called _quinceañero_. I may have had that in mind when I set the party plans in motion. In any case, we were in the midst of a busy weekend last year, so I felt that this year we should pay proper attention to her special day. It brings back a few memories for me as well."

"Ah," said Tattoo. He wanted to ask, but suspected Roarke wouldn't tell; his boss was an intensely private man, and revealed only what he chose to. "Well, then, there's no doubt in my mind it'll be very special, and she'll never forget it."

Roarke smiled. "Thank you, Tattoo," he said. "Very well, then, I think we had better get back to work. I'll take the painting for you, and we can worry about wrapping things later on. I gave Leslie the weekend off because things are so routine; so she's likely to spend as much of it as possible with her friends. There will be time for us to further our plans without her knowledge."

§ § § -- May 6, 1980

Unexpectedly, Roarke and Tattoo both came to pick up Leslie after school on Tuesday, surprising her as much as her friends. "Special treatment?" Camille asked.

"It's her birthday," Lauren reminded her cousin, "or did you forget?" She grinned at Leslie. "Don't forget to tell us what happens later on."

"We'll see you girls this evening," Roarke said with a smile. "Leslie will be late for an appointment unless we hurry." Leaving her mystified friends trying to figure out what this meant, he pulled away and drove back towards the eastern side of the island.

"What appointment, Mr. Roarke?" Leslie asked, leaning between the two front seats. "Why on earth would I have to visit the doctor on my birthday?"

"It's not a doctor's appointment, Leslie," Tattoo said with a grin. "Just wait and see."

Within about fifteen minutes they had pulled up in front of the small building in Amberville that housed the police station and the two-cell jail. Sitting at a small desk was the petite, doll-faced Chinese receptionist, Mei-Lian Ching, filling out a few forms; she looked up when Roarke and Tattoo brought Leslie in and brightened. "Right on time for the appointment!" she said cheerfully. "Mr. Roarke, Mr. Tattoo, you can wait here if you like. We should be finished before too long." She turned to a completely baffled Leslie and said, "Come on out to the car. I need to take a permit over to the restaurant, and as long as you're here, you might as well take me. Mr. Roarke says you're becoming a good driver."

"He does?" Leslie asked, very surprised.

Mei-Lian Ching's black eyes danced. "Hm," she said teasingly, as much to Roarke as to Leslie, "I guess he's told everyone except you!" They all laughed.

"Perhaps I should have mentioned it," Roarke said lightly, "but I didn't want it going to your head." The twinkle in his dark eyes told Leslie she was being gently teased again. "I believe Miss Ching is waiting for a personal demonstration."

"Well, okay," Leslie said, not quite sure what this was all about, but willing to play along. "The only problem is, I need the key, Mr. Roarke."

Again everyone laughed, a little more heartily this time since the joke was on Roarke. He took it quite well and handed Leslie the key with a broad smile. "Enjoy your little trip," he said. "Tattoo, my friend, we may as well make ourselves as comfortable as possible." He gestured Leslie and the receptionist out the door.

"So," Mei-Lian Ching said, watching Leslie start the car, take a good look around and ease onto the road. "How long ago did Mr. Roarke start teaching you to drive?"

"A couple of months or so," Leslie said. "It's not like much has changed because of it, though. I still have to take either Mr. Roarke or Tattoo with me if I want to go somewhere, so it still puts them out. For the first week Tattoo wouldn't even go with us when Mr. Roarke was giving me lessons, but then he kind of had to, and he decided I wasn't all that bad after all." She glanced quickly at the receptionist and grinned self-deprecatingly, quickly returning her eyes to the road. "You know, Miss Ching, I think you're the first person who wasn't nervous about riding with me."

"Call me Mei-Lian," she said, laughing. "That can't possibly be true. After all, Mr. Roarke had enough courage to ride with you the very first time you ever sat in a driver's seat, right? So maybe that makes me the second person."

"Oh, I bet Mr. Roarke was just as nervous as anyone else," Leslie said. "He just did it because he knew somebody had to teach me how to drive."

Mei-Lian gave her a sidelong glance. "Oh, I think you should give him a little more credit than that," she observed, "not to mention yourself. Not much frightens Mr. Roarke. Teaching a teenager to drive is probably nothing for him. When you've been here several years and have seen the incredible variety of fantasies he's granted…well, I think then you'll be able to put something like this into perspective."

Leslie nodded. "That makes sense," she agreed. "I guess he's seen a lot of weird stuff. I mean…I've been here only a little more than a year, and already there've been famous people and murderers and living marionettes, and people getting to be younger and traveling back in time, and Tattoo almost adopting a baby, and ghosts and goddesses and even a mermaid!" She blew out her breath. "Can you believe it?"

"Don't spread it around too much," Mei-Lian said with a giggle. "Half the islanders don't know he does a lot of the things he does. Those of us who do…well, it's a sort of unwritten rule that what happens on Fantasy Island stays on Fantasy Island. It's not the easiest thing on earth to keep that sort of secret, with the kind of fame Mr. Roarke has. But it helps that we're so isolated from most populated places."

"But there's a U.S. Air Force base on Coral Island," said Leslie. "I know of a lot of kids at school who live on the base there and go to school here, because Coral Island's too small for a high school."

"Oh, they know they're near Fantasy Island," Mei-Lian said as Leslie turned off the main road and eased her way down a dirt lane toward the restaurant. "But Mr. Roarke very carefully controls travel between here and any other islands. Haven't you ever seen the Coral Island kids? They have special laminated blue passes for students only, which allow them to come here so they can go to school. They take the school ferry back and forth every day and they have to show those passes each and every morning when they board the boat. If their parents are transferred to a different base, they have to turn the passes back in to the school office. And school is the only reason they come here—no free access to the whole island. That's the main reason the high school is on the other side of the island."

"Oh," said Leslie. "I wondered about that." She brought the car to a halt. "Well, we're here."

"So we are. Just wait here and I'll be right out." Mei-Lian hopped out of the car and walked briskly down the broad wooden walkway to the restaurant, an elegant tropical affair that was abutted on three sides by a small pond. The walkway from the road and another that bisected it, built like small piers crossing the pond, provided the only access.

Mei-Lian was back in a few minutes. "Just turn around right here," she instructed Leslie casually. "I'm surprised you didn't know about the passes. If you ever leave the island for any reason, even just for shopping on Coral Island, don't forget to get a green pass from Mr. Roarke, or you won't be able to come home again."

"Yikes," said Leslie, shooting Mei-Lian a startled glance. "I had no idea about that. I'm glad you told me."

Mei-Lian grinned, again watching Leslie make a three-point turn to drive back the way they had come. "Well, you had no time to go off-island; it seems to me Mr. Roarke keeps you busy helping him out with the fantasies—at least that's what I hear."

"How do you know that?" Leslie asked in surprise.

"Sheriff Tokita," said Mei-Lian impishly. "It seems he hears a lot from his daughter Michiko, who apparently knows a lot more about what Mr. Roarke does than she used to."

Leslie laughed. "Well, it's not as if I'm giving away trade secrets. It's just fun telling my friends a little about the fantasies every Monday at school. It's kind of our way of making Monday a little less…well, a little less _Monday."_

That earned her a laugh from Mei-Lian. "I know exactly what you mean," she said.

They chatted all the way back to Amberville; Mei-Lian had a manner about her that put Leslie at ease, which was unusual as Leslie didn't meet too many people she felt comfortable with almost from the beginning. Before she quite realized it, they were back at the police station, where Leslie parked the car and shut off the ignition.

Mei-Lian preceded her into the office and sat behind her desk, pulling out a drawer and extracting another form while they watched. "Well?" Tattoo finally prodded.

"Oh, it went fine," Mei-Lian told him. "Leslie, why don't you sit in that chair over there and fill this out for me." She anchored the form to a clipboard and handed it to Leslie along with a pen, indicating a chair in the corner of the room. Leslie gave her a strange look, but shrugged and did as bidden. Roarke watched her silently, the slightest smile on his face, while Tattoo watched Mei-Lian open still another drawer and remove a large camera which she set onto a tripod. The only sounds were those the receptionist made setting up the camera and loading film into it, as well as the nearly inaudible scratching of Leslie's pen on the form as she wrote.

"Smile," Mei-Lian said presently.

Leslie looked up blankly. "What?"

"Smile. You're on Candid Camera," Mei-Lian joked. Leslie rolled her eyes but grinned at the reference to the old television series, and the flash went off, making her blink.

"Ugh," she murmured, returning to the nearly completed form. "I've got a big purple spot in front of my eyes now. I can hardly see to write."

"Oh, this'll be worth it," Mei-Lian promised her. "Sign that at the bottom when you're done. A few more minutes and you'll be ready."

Leslie wrote her name at the bottom of the form and handed the clipboard and pen back to Mei-Lian. "So what's this all about—are you starting a secret file on me?"

Mei-Lian grinned at her. "No, nothing of the sort. It amazes me that you haven't figured it out by now. When you took me to the restaurant, Leslie, you were also taking your driver's test. You passed with flying colors, and now I'm putting your driver's license together. That's why I took the picture and made you fill this out."

"You mean I…" Leslie stared huge-eyed at her, then turned to Roarke and Tattoo, who were both grinning. "Mr. Roarke, this was your doing, wasn't it?"

"Indeed so," Roarke confirmed. Mei-Lian vanished into a back room with the form and the camera, and Leslie crossed the room to hug him.

"That was really sneaky," she said. "I guess it's a good thing I didn't even know I was taking my driving test. I'd've been terrified otherwise and probably flunked."

"That's precisely the reason I asked Miss Ching to proceed with the test the way she did," Roarke explained. "She was such a natural, you never suspected a thing."

Mei-Lian came out with something in her hand. "Those drama classes I took in high school came in handy," she wisecracked cheerfully. "Here you are, Leslie—you're now an officially licensed driver. Mr. Roarke came in last Friday and arranged everything. Happy birthday, Leslie."

Leslie bestowed another hug on Roarke, then gave Tattoo one, and even hugged a delighted Mei-Lian. Amid cheerful farewells, they departed, with Leslie in the driver's seat; back at the main house, Roarke made a couple of phone calls while Tattoo suggested to Leslie that she change her clothes and put away her schoolbooks for the evening. "We're going to a little party later on, so don't take too long."

"That sounds like fun," Leslie said and trotted up the stairs. Tattoo watched her go and then turned to his boss as Roarke hung up from the second call.

"It's amazing, boss, she has no idea," Tattoo observed in wonder.

Roarke looked toward the stairs for a moment and said reflectively, "I suspect it's easy to surprise her because she isn't accustomed to having a fuss made over her birthday. You'll recall last year, when it was nearly eclipsed by Cornelius Kelly's antics. She admitted later that she was quite amazed she had a celebration at all."

"But every kid gets birthday parties," Tattoo said, uncomprehending.

"Not Leslie," Roarke said cryptically and focused on his date book, making a notation for an August weekend. Tattoo frowned, thinking it over.

"Are you saying her father wouldn't let her have birthday parties?" he finally asked. "I can hardly believe that. I remember when her mother was here. That lady would've done anything for her daughter, and I'm sure she must have found a way to give Leslie a party on her birthday."

"Perhaps you'd better ask Leslie," Roarke suggested. "Not now, however. Let the day be a happy one for her; she may be inclined to tell you at another time if you ask."

When Leslie came back down, Roarke looked up at her and smiled at her attire; she was wearing white jeans and a matching short-sleeved blouse that was trimmed in eyelet lace of pale Hawaiian blue. "You may want to bring a sweater, Leslie," he said.

"A sweater?" she echoed, so incredulous that Tattoo grinned. "Are we expecting the temperature to drop or something?"

"Humor me," Roarke suggested. "You may think I am growing slightly senile in my old age, but I have my reasons."

"Old!? _You??"_ Leslie blurted, genuinely astounded. "Mr. Roarke, there's no way in the world you'll _ever_ be old. Well, okay, I'll get the sweater." She started back up the steps.

"You'll notice," Tattoo said slyly, "that she didn't say a word about you being senile."

Roarke gave him a wide-eyed stare, and Leslie gasped, a hand flying to her mouth. "Tattoo," she blurted, in the same reproving tone Roarke so often used.

Tattoo laughed. "I'm joking, silly. Go get the sweater."

She trotted up the steps, and something in Roarke's gaze changed. "I certainly hope you were joking, my friend," he remarked, with just enough of an ominous tinge in his voice that Tattoo's levity vanished and he peered at Roarke a little worriedly.

"Oh, come on, boss, you know I was just kidding," he insisted.

Roarke looked deliberately at him for a long, tense moment, then smiled, and Tattoo relaxed so visibly that Roarke's smile graduated into a laugh. Tattoo chuckled back, a little shakily, but clearly relieved. Roarke turned his attention to a lengthy fantasy-request letter, amusement still evident on his features, shaking his head to himself.

Leslie came down a moment later with a cardigan draped over one arm. "I guess I'm finally ready," she said.

"One moment, please," Roarke requested without looking up. "We'll be on our way in a few minutes." Leslie took a seat in front of the desk while Roarke finished reading the letter; Tattoo waited quietly, watching his boss.

"That must be some letter," Leslie finally commented.

"The man who wrote it uses a great many words to convey a very simple request," said Roarke. "After essentially telling me his life story, he finally asks to become a millionaire for the weekend." He sighed deeply. "We have had just a few too many such requests." He folded the letter and slipped it into its envelope; even from where she sat, Leslie could easily see the name Fred Catlett in the corner of the envelope, written in large square capital letters. She glanced at Tattoo, whose eyes gleamed with interest.

"Oh, come on, boss," he protested. "Loads of people dream of being rich. I mean, I dream of it too, you know."

"Of that, I am all too well aware," Roarke commented dryly, and Leslie grinned. "But it's far too difficult to make the necessary monetary arrangements for such a fantasy to grant every similar request we receive. Furthermore, there are other, more pressing problems to be solved through a fantasy, so turning a man into a millionaire is quite low on my list of priorities…even if the same isn't true of you." Tattoo shrugged, looking sheepish, and Roarke smiled. "Enough. Shall we be on our way?"


	2. Chapter 2

§ § § -- May 6, 1980

Roarke invited Leslie to drive again, and directed her down the same dirt lane she had used to take Mei-Lian to the restaurant earlier. This time they passed the restaurant and continued on to the end of the road, where a large flat-roofed building stood. There were quite a few bikes parked in bicycle stands along the front of the building; bikes were the island's main mode of transportation, but there were enough spaces for about ten vehicles as well. Leslie peered at the sign over the door.

" 'Fantasy _Ice_land'?" she read, delighted. "That's great! It's an ice-skating rink, isn't it, Mr. Roarke? Who thought up the name?"

"Three guesses," Tattoo said dryly, and Leslie laughed, parking the car. They alighted and walked into the rink, which was so dark they could see nothing.

"Isn't anyone here?" Leslie whispered; the dark seemed to command silence. "I mean, there're so many bikes out front, somebody has to be here."

She felt Roarke's arm slip around her shoulders. "Lights, please," he called out.

Multi-colored lights flared into life all around the arena, and people kept popping out from behind counters and tables, shouting birthday greetings at Leslie. Overwhelmed, she stared in astonishment, her eyes enormous and a smile blooming across her face. It seemed the rink was packed; all her friends, along with every member of their families, had come. Maureen Tomai was there with her parents, Janos and Romana; Michiko and all the other Tokitas were there, including Saburo and Kayoko with Kiichiro Matsuda; Myeko Sensei was with her mother and father, twin brothers and younger sister; Lauren McCormick had brought her parents, brother and sister; and Camille Ichino stood with her parents, Tommy, and all four quadruplets, now nearly thirteen months old.

"Oh my gosh," Leslie said, and Roarke could feel her shaking slightly. "I can't believe it. _Everybody's_ here! I…when did all this happen?"

"Over the last four or five days," Tattoo told her. "After crazy Cornelius and Alphonse almost ruined your birthday last year, we decided that this year you were going to get the biggest birthday bash we could cook up. So here you are."

"This is the best birthday I've ever had," she said softly, smiling at everyone and then looking up at Roarke. "Absolutely the best."

Roarke smiled back, but he had no chance to say anything, because Tommy Ichino called out, "Hey, it hasn't even started yet." Everyone laughed, and the entire crowd made their way over to about half a dozen tables that had been set up in an open observers' area of the rink. As they were settling down, the door to the employees' area popped open and two young native men wheeled out a table bearing a giant birthday cake studded with fifteen candles, sitting on a plate surrounded by huge tropical blooms. Roarke got Leslie's attention and directed it to the cake; her mouth fell open and her eyes got bigger than ever at sight of it. Tattoo began to sing "Happy Birthday to You", and everyone else promptly joined in while Leslie sat, red-faced but with shining eyes, and alternated between staring at the cake and gazing around at her friends and their families.

The song came to an end and everyone clapped; yet she hesitated at blowing out the candles, even after plenty of photos were taken of the cake. "What're you waiting for, your sixteenth birthday?" Lauren urged. "Make a wish, Leslie!"

Her words were taken up by many of the other partygoers, but Leslie hunched her shoulders and cast Roarke a slightly overwhelmed look. "I don't think I have anything left to wish for," she finally said, which earned her a round of laughter.

"Oh, there must be something," Michiko said. "Really, Leslie, you can't blow out your candles before you make a wish."

"But you should hurry up before the frosting gets a wax coating," Myeko put in, bringing on more laughter. "Heck, just wish for a cute guy and get it over with. But wish for something already."

Leslie looked around at the eager looks on her friends, the smiling faces of their families, at her guardian and his assistant who both looked for all the world like proud fathers, and suddenly knew exactly what to wish for. She closed her eyes and thought fervently, _I want to stay on Fantasy Island forever._ Then she took the deepest breath she could, leaned over and blew out all the candles on her first try. In the midst of the applause and cheers, Tattoo happened to notice a thoughtful expression on Roarke's face, and was convinced his boss knew just what Leslie had wished for.

After that the candles were removed and the cake was cut while Michiko's and Myeko's mothers alternated in stacking presents for Leslie on an unused table. There was enough cake for everyone to have a generous slice, and ice cream was served along with it. Finally everyone had had his or her fill, and one of the rink employees went around pouring glasses of tropical-fruit juice for everyone while Myeko and Maureen appointed themselves gift bearers and took turns handing Leslie presents to open. It turned out the nearly all the gifts were decorative items for her room: for example, the Tokita family had given her a beautifully crafted wooden knickknack shelf, carved by Kayoko's husband Kiichiro and varnished by Saburo, with whom he ran a small woodworking shop in Hawaii. Each family member had individually added figurines that she could display on the shelves. From the others, she received copies of favorite books, a photo album, a few record albums, and even a beautiful doll dressed as a Japanese geisha from Myeko.

Tattoo had had a quick word with Myeko and Maureen before they started bringing Leslie her presents, and now he nodded at Maureen, who lifted his gift and toted it over to her friend. Leslie stood up, gaping at it. "This is from Tattoo," Maureen told her.

"Oh wow," Leslie said softly, stared at Tattoo for a moment in wonder, then turned back to his gift, curiosity overwhelming her. "Hold it up for me, Maureen, would you?" she asked, and Maureen obliged, watching as avidly as everyone else. Other than Tattoo, of course, only Roarke knew what it was, and had a camera at the ready.

When Leslie revealed Tattoo's painting, her face grew slack with astonishment and admiration; she was so stunned by this generous gift that she barely noticed when Roarke caught her reaction on film. "Oh, how gorgeous!" she breathed. "Oh, this is…" Words failed her, and she turned to Tattoo, a sheen in her eyes. "You painted this for me?"

"Well, it's just something I thought you might like," Tattoo murmured, unusually self-deprecating. "Figured it might look good on your wall."

"It's absolutely beautiful," Leslie said, reaching out and wrapping his hands in hers. "It'll transform my whole room, Tattoo. I love it…it's perfect!" She hesitated, glanced for a half-second at Roarke, then said, _"Merci beaucoup, mon oncle,"_ in a creditable enough French accent to really surprise Tattoo.

"Where did you learn that?" he exclaimed, then realized just what she had said. His eyes got quite wide, and he swallowed visibly. "Thank you, Leslie…thank you."

A couple of the women brushed tears away, and several male groans emanated from the crowd in response, bringing on laughter that broke the emotional tension. Leslie used it as cover to drop to her knees and hug Tattoo. "You just made my birthday," she told him.

Tattoo grinned. "Hey, it still isn't over yet. There's a reason we're having this party at the skating rink. Free skate rental for all the guests, and you get to stay as long as you're not too tired to skate." He grinned at Leslie's delighted expression. "Since you're done opening presents, I'll go give the word that you're about ready to skate."

Within ten minutes everyone under the age of eighteen had laced on a pair of skates and was on the rink; Kiichiro had talked Kayoko into joining the young people on the ice, and they struck out in wobbly fashion. The only exceptions were the Ichino quadruplets, who had decided the discarded wrapping paper made excellent toys and were busy ripping it to bits, trying to wrap chair legs or adult limbs in it, or flailing each other with it. Cheerful calliope music echoed off the walls of the building, mingling with laughs and occasional shrieks from the skaters; the adults sat around the table chatting over coffee, in some cases getting acquainted with one another. For Roarke and Tattoo, this meant everyone except Masato Tokita, with whom they dealt fairly regularly in his capacity as sheriff.

The talk eventually wound around to the quads, and Paul Ichino admitted that the older they got, the more of a handful they became. "They ran us ragged enough when they were babies," he said, "but we had it easy then. Now they're on their feet and into everything. I can't tell you how many places and things we've had to childproof."

"Do they still share the same room?" Miyoshi Tokita asked in careful English with a thick Japanese accent.

"Yes, they do, and we're trying to decide how we'll handle that arrangement as they grow older," Katie Ichino admitted. "It's possible that by the time they're old enough for it to matter, Tommy will be in college, and Camille might be willing to move into his current bedroom in the basement and give hers to Julianne and Jennette. I hate to ask her to share it now, since she always had Andrea for a roommate until last fall."

"Is Andrea enjoying Harvard?" Roarke inquired conversationally.

Paul and Katie Ichino looked at each other, and Roarke felt his internal radar go into action. There was a quality in their expressions that suggested that not all was right in their world. "Maybe not as much as she did, Mr. Roarke," Katie Ichino finally confessed, obviously choosing her words with care.

Carson McCormick, Lauren's father, remarked, "Well, we all know what a heavy workload Harvard students are supposed to have. Andrea's always been a good student, but even she might be disillusioned with the amount of work." Laughter went around the table; only Roarke noticed the faint discomfort in the man's words. If memory served, he reflected silently, the two families were related; he seemed to recall Leslie telling him that Lauren's and Camille's mothers were sisters. The McCormicks clearly knew something was amiss. What were the Ichinos trying to hide?

On the rink, Leslie, Maureen, Lauren and Myeko were trying their utmost to perform a few fancy tricks, falling now and then and constantly squalling with laughter at their own fruitless efforts. Tommy hovered around them, teasing them good-naturedly from time to time; the girls teased him right back. Toki kept to himself for a change, as if he had decided to cut Leslie a break due to it being her birthday, and was in a far section of the rink skating backwards in slow circles. Reiko Tokita, six-year-old Sayuri Sensei and her ten-year-old twin brothers Taro and Tomi, eleven-year-old Deborah McCormick and her nine-year-old brother Adrian rounded the rink at varying speeds, the boys trying to race one another and the little girls holding hands, giggling ceaselessly.

"This'll never work," Lauren finally complained after the girls had made about half a dozen failed attempts to start up a human chain of the sort usually seen performed by a large group of skaters. "We need more people. What happened to Michiko and Camille?"

"Michiko went to take a bathroom break," Maureen replied, "but I don't know where Camille is." Her tone said that the latter didn't bother her; as Leslie had told Tattoo some time before, Camille openly disliked Maureen, and Maureen had learned to simply ignore her. Lauren, Myeko and Michiko had been happy to accept Maureen into their group, and Camille's animosity made things very uncomfortable at times.

"Oh, that sister of mine," Tommy grunted. "She's off in a corner brooding."

"At a birthday party?" Myeko demanded. "What's her problem?"

Tommy and Lauren looked at each other, but neither said anything. Maureen rolled her green eyes. "Let her sulk if she wants to. There's no reason we should let her problem become our problem too."

Leslie bit her lip. "But…it doesn't seem right," she said. "It's just that she's been like this ever since New Year's. She can't stay this way forever."

"You don't know Camille very well, then," Tommy remarked. "Camille's very good at holding grudges and keeping things to herself. I'm with Maureen. If she wants to sulk, then let her. She's the one who's missing out."

Michiko came skating out towards them at that point, and Myeko turned to her. "Did you see Camille anywhere?"

Michiko sighed. "Yes. She's in that corner over there." She indicated the bleachers set up for spectators; on the highest tier, in an unlit corner, they could just make out a figure huddled on the seat.

Leslie took a breath. "Well, nobody's going to sit out my birthday party. Mr. Roarke and Tattoo went to all this trouble so everyone could have a good time, and I'm going to make Camille have a good time whether she wants to or not. I'll be back in a few minutes." She skated off to the side of the rink, slipped in through the penalty box set up for hockey games, and clumped awkwardly along on her unguarded skate blades till she was standing directly below Camille, five tiers above her. "Hey, party pooper, come down here!"

Her playful voice caught Camille's attention; the other girl sat up. "What?"

"You were invited to my party too, you know," Leslie told her. "It's kind of antisocial to sit off in the corner and avoid everybody. We're having a great time out on the ice—why don't you come join us?"

"Sorry," Camille said. "I don't feel very festive. Just go away and leave me alone."

Leslie lost her patience. "Come on, Camille. You've been out of it for months. You hardly said anything to us on New Year's Eve, and you've been all but impossible to live with ever since then. You're lucky we're still willing to hang out with you, because you're almost as big a grouch as that Jean-Claude at the hotel. And the worst thing is, we know there's something wrong, but you refuse to tell us—yet you're letting it run your whole life and influence the way you treat everybody around you. Frankly, I for one am really fed up with it. Now you can join us on the ice and have a good time, or you can sit up here and sulk till your head falls off—but you should know that you're going to lose all your friends if you keep this up. This is your last chance, Camille. Are you coming or not?"

Camille stared at her in surprise for a few moments. Finally she said, "Geez, Leslie, do you really have to be so blunt about it?"

"Yes, I do," Leslie said, refusing to back down. She was rarely so confrontational, but five months of Camille's snappish brooding and refusal to share her problem with her friends had pushed Leslie beyond her limit. "We're all really sick of your mood. We don't even know what your problem is, since you won't say anything and you won't let anyone else say anything either. Either you join the real world again, or we'll just tell you where to get off, and you can waste your whole life sulking over whatever it is. I mean, really, do you honestly believe you can treat people like that all the time and get away with it?"

Camille thought this over and finally shrugged. "All right, look, can you keep a secret? If I tell you something, will you promise not to blab?"

Leslie scowled. "I don't know if that's such a great idea, but if you actually feel like talking, then I guess the least I can do is keep your secret for you. So what is it?"

Camille made her way down the bleachers and stopped in front of Leslie, opened her mouth, and hesitated. Then, to Leslie's astonishment, Camille winced sharply and squeezed her eyes shut, hanging her head. "I still can't really talk about it," Camille mumbled, her voice thickening with impending tears. "It's just…well, something happened to Andrea at Harvard just before the Christmas break…and, well…" She broke off, her jaw clenching. "I just can't talk about it yet."

Leslie, more perplexed than ever, considered her words for a moment. She had never had the chance to meet Andrea before the older girl's departure for Boston, by some strange quirk of fate; but she was aware that Camille was very close to her older sister. Whatever had happened to Andrea, she mused, must have been pretty major for it to affect Camille the way it had been doing for so long. And that apparently made it a truly serious problem. She nodded finally. "Okay, Camille. I could say that if it's something that happened to Andrea, it won't help her for you to sit around letting it take over _your_ life. But that's up to you, I guess." She folded her arms over her chest. "But you don't get to sit around and be a wet blanket at my birthday party. So get your rear end out here and skate with us."

Camille looked sharply at her, frowned and brushed away a tear that was threatening to escape. Then she unexpectedly produced an uncertain little smile and shrugged, as if to say it was no big deal. "Okay, I will…if you promise to get off my back about it."

Leslie grinned. "You skate, I stop bugging you. Come on, let's go."

The other girls and Tommy were amazed to see her emerge onto the ice with Camille in tow. "Wow, you actually got her out of her dungeon?" Myeko exclaimed.

"She sweet-talked me into it," Camille wisecracked, and both she and Leslie broke into laughter. The other girls joined in, not knowing the joke, but glad to finally see Camille back in their group again.


	3. Chapter 3

§ § § -- May 6, 1980

The party broke up soon after nine, since the next day was a school day; but it had been a wonderful afternoon for Leslie. Leslie's friends, including Camille, pitched in helping Leslie, Tattoo and Roarke carry the birthday presents to the station wagon and load them in for the trip home. This time Roarke drove, seeing that Leslie was near burnout for the day, and glanced at her when she yawned. "It appears that you quite enjoyed your birthday," he said with classic understatement.

"It was a blast," Leslie said and smiled. "You and Tattoo must have bent over backwards setting everything up. Thank you both so much…it was wonderful."

"It looks like you got through to Camille," Tattoo remarked.

"I think so, at least for the party," Leslie said. "I just got tired of seeing her moping around all the time. She went so far as to tell me something happened to Andrea at Harvard, but she wouldn't go beyond that. If it's been on her mind like this for so long, it must have been one heck of a problem. But I promised not to push her about it, just so long as she stops letting it control her life."

"It appears that Andrea's problem has heavily affected her entire family," Roarke said, "but they choose to keep it within themselves. That is their right, no matter how much you or I may disagree. Perhaps one day they will be ready to seek assistance, but it can't be forced. It may be enough for now that you convinced Camille not to focus so heavily on it, Leslie." He cleared his throat, signaling that the subject was closed. "Let's get your new belongings up to your room, and then you may stay up until ten, Leslie—no later."

"Okay, Mr. Roarke," Leslie agreed. "I can start arranging things in my room."

Roarke and Tattoo helped her carry things to her room and then left her to her own devices for half an hour or so; when they came back up at about 9:45, Leslie had put away all the smaller items and was holding Tattoo's painting against one wall or another, trying to decide where it would look best. The knickknack shelf she had received from the Tokitas leaned against the wall near the closet, waiting to be mounted. "Did you decide where to put it yet?" Tattoo asked, watching her.

She looked around in surprise. "I've narrowed it down to two spots, but I'm still not completely sure. Maybe I can figure it out tomorrow." She carefully put the painting down, leaning that against the wall too. "Is something wrong?"

"No, not at all," Tattoo said with a mysterious little smile.

"I have one more thing for you," Roarke put in, bringing a wrapped object about the size of a shoe box out from behind his back. "It's somewhat fragile, so I thought it best to wait to give it to you until we were here at home."

Leslie came around the bed, staring at the box in his hands. "Fragile?" she murmured, mystified. Roarke handed her the box and, along with Tattoo, watched while she removed the wrapping paper, set the box on the bed and lifted the lid. Tattoo took a few steps forward, trying to see what lay inside.

A small envelope rested atop layers of yellowing tissue paper. On the front was a typed message: **TO BE GIVEN TO LESLIE SUSAN HAMILTON ON HER 15****TH**** BIRTHDAY, MAY 6, 1980.** Slowly she lifted the card, read what was on the envelope and turned a completely bewildered look on Roarke.

"Read it," Roarke urged gently, a faint smile on his features.

She turned the envelope over, tugged the flap out and withdrew a small card, which when she opened it could be seen to contain a handwritten message. Leslie read it and then gave a gasp; her hands began to tremble. "Are you all right?" Tattoo asked.

Leslie nodded. "I…it's from my grandmother." She read aloud: _"Dear Leslie, you are only seven years old as I write this, but your mother has told me in secret the fate she learned was in store for you. I know I won't be alive when you finally go to Mr. Roarke, so I made up my mind to leave something behind for you that would help you to keep your memories alive. I know you will treasure it. I'll always love you, Leslie, my precious granddaughter. From your devoted_ mormor, _Ingunna Hansson Reed."_ She looked up at Roarke and bit her lip. "That's the year _mormor_ moved in with us. I wonder…"

"Why don't you look inside the box and see," Roarke urged gently, smiling.

Carefully Leslie laid the card on her bed and slowly, shakily, folded back the fragile layers of tissue paper, finally revealing a beautiful, twelve-inch-tall doll, dressed in Swedish bridal garb. A soft, startled cry escaped Leslie's throat as she stared huge-eyed at it. "I…I remember this doll," she whispered. "It was always on display at _mormor_'s house and I used to stand and stare at it when we went to visit her. Then when she moved in with us, I kept looking for it in her things, but it seemed to have disappeared. I thought she never noticed, so I didn't mention it." She stared at Roarke, tears in her eyes.

Roarke came to her and smoothed her hair, studying the doll with interest. Then he turned to her and said softly, "Your grandmother knew you would treasure that doll, Leslie. If, as she said in the card, your mother made her aware of your fate, then she would have understood just what this would mean to you. I sent for it to the bank in your birthplace of Plainville, Connecticut, where she kept it in a safe-deposit box, and it finally arrived here last Saturday." He slid an arm around her shoulders, smiling at her.

"It's a very pretty doll," Tattoo observed, coming over to get a good look at it. "What a lovely reminder of your grandmother, Leslie."

"I was always afraid it was destroyed in the first fire," Leslie admitted, reaching out a shaking hand and running a tentative, reverent finger along the doll's wedding gown. The floral wreath circling the doll's blonde head was still intact and vibrant with color, as though the item had been frozen in time. "Oh, I wish there were some way I could tell _mormor_ thank you…" She looked at Roarke then. "But I can say it to you. Thank you, Mr. Roarke, thank you for passing _mormor_'s doll down for me." She threw her arms around him then, clinging for all she was worth, and he soundlessly rocked her a little.

Tattoo looked hard at the doll, peered at the card, then finally eyed Roarke. "Boss," he demanded quietly, frowning in as stern an expression as he could muster up, "how did you know she was supposed to get that doll on her fifteenth birthday??"

Roarke never said a word, simply smiled at him.

* * *

_Next up: a bit of a comedy break…_

In chapter 1, reference is made to the episode "The Devil and Mandy Breem / Instant Millionaire" from October 25, 1980, first story arc only, with Arte Johnson as Fred Catlett. Chapter 2 contains foreshadowing of events explained in my story "Ghost of a Chance", under the MagicSwede1965 pen name.


End file.
